Archive for 'On Writing'
When Country Wasn’t Cool
Posted on 10. Apr, 2009 by Deb.
I can’t not remember loving music. No matter what was playing, I would find a way to sing along. In grade school, we learned our patriotic songs and folks music. My sister, who is seven years my senior, preferred bubblegum pop and I recall Donny Osmond and the sounds of K-Tel Records coming form her room. But when it comes down to it, I have always loved country music. I grew up on country music. Oh, Not the crossover pop stuff that fills the airwaves these days, but the heartfelt crooning of Patsy Cline, the love torn George Jones and Tammy Wynette, and the rich stories woven into the songs of Johnny Cash.
I was introduced to country thanks to Bill Mack, the Midnight Cowboy, who was on WBAP Radio (40,000 Watts of Power!) and my grandmother. I can still recall the hot summer nights visiting my grandmother, with the windows open to catch any breeze. There were the sounds of crickets and the occasional howling tomcat coming from outside; and from a transistor radio resting between our pillows came the sounds of Bill Mack and country music.
Thinking back on on my early love of Country Music, I can’t help but think about Willie Nelson. Nelson was from Texas and did a stint as a DJ in Hillsboro, Texas, which is a short 45 minutes from my grandmothers. He was a song writer as well, writing such classics as Crazy, Pretty Paper, and Hello Walls for other singers. His first number one single as a singer was Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain, from his Red Headed Stranger Album. Can you believe that Columbia Records questioned the album’s use of only a guitar and piano?
I could share a dozen songs from Willie Nelson that I can listen to today and still recall the wonder and appreciation of hearing it like it was the first time and long to sing along. I won’t share a dozen, however, but I will share this wonderful recording of “Always On My Mind“, which won a Grammy in 1982 as Song of the Year. The songwriter in him certainly certainly lends itself to just the right mix of instruments and pacing and I have to admit I like this version better than the Elvis version:
As I got a little older, I realized the Country Music wasn’t so popular with my friends. It’s funny, I grew up in a town where the Kowbell Rodeo had a rodeo every Saturday night between 1958 and 2004, yet the music that was popular was pop and rock. I could enjoy the pop, but I still went through spells of listening to country. By the time I was 13, I had begun singing in spaces outside of my shower (and my living room, where my sister played the piano and I sang). No matter how much I wanted to sing classical arias and popular songs, my voice was best suited to the music I had always loved, country and folk.
When thinking about the days of purchasing sheet music and scrambling for a piano or guitar player to serve as an accompanist, I can’t leave out the amazing Patsy Cline. The movie “Sweet Dreams” came out when I was in high school, and music from that soundtrack made it’s way into both performances as well as part of my audition for a scholarship for college. This is probably one of Cline’s most famous songs,and it was written by Willie Nelson.:
It’s funny, when I was surfing for videos to post, I ran across this song from the 80′s by the Judds. Funny, because I ran across the sheet music to this song in the garage a week or so ago. It’s also funny because the song is quite appropriate for me these days.
It’s been at least two years since since I’ve sung in public, unless, of course you count singing at the grocery store. I do that mainly in an attempt to embarrass children, though I think they find humor in it. I haven’t purchased sheet music in twenty-years. To be honest, I was never a reader of music. I learned everything by ear. These days, I just need to hear a song a couple of times to sing along. The IPod is a wonderful thing as is the ability to search for videos via Google. I’ve been on a habit of listening to CMT in the mornings when I am doing my morning emails, so an introduction to some of the newer faces in Country Music is part of that process.
In addition to the new faces, however, I am treated to hearing from an artist I would consider a real classic. Like Loretta Lynn. In 1994, a Coal Miner’s Daughter does an album with rocker Jack White of White Stripes, which was released when Lynn was 69. Portland, Oregon is one of the best songs in that collection. As I was pulling videos for this post, my youngest commented “her voice doesn’t sound old at all!” No, ma’am, she doesn’t:
And now that I’ve shared some of the older voices that I’ve grown to love throughout my lifetime, how about closing this post with this sweet song from one of the newer artists, The Zac Brown Band:
I hope you are having a lovely Good Friday. I know that I am……
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Girlie Bonding
Posted on 31. Mar, 2009 by Deb.
There are two perfect ways of bonding with girlfriends: chatting over coffee and going to get your nails done. The best days are when you can combine the two, which is what I did today. Miss Melissa was kind enough to have me and another of her friends over for coffee (and cookies) this morning, where we discussed families and coffee, Mac vs. PC, old-fashioned hardware stores, piercings, tattoos, religion and gourmet food. We also spent some time out on the deck, enjoying the cool Spring breeze and the sunshine. The butterflies are beginning toe flourish and we saw several varieties as well as bees hovering over the photinias. It never fails to amaze me how we can cover so much ground and how conversations about one subject flow seemingly into another without any awkward segues.
After coffee and chats, Melissa and I headed on to the nail salon for manicures and pedicures. It seems like there is a nail salon in every strip mall in the area, but they are not all equal. Besides, I am picky – and I believe Melissa is just as picky – as to the environment. It’s amazing how relaxing putting your feet (and hands) in plastic bags filled with hot wax can be, as you would think it was some sort of torture. Each little nail place is different, and this place does the paraffin as well as a hot rock massage as part of the “deluxe” routine. Discussions turned a tad more serious when it was just Melissa and I as we discussed work and writing and family related stuff. We always brainstorm and discuss where we are on All Things Girl when we do this, so it’s both work and pampering. Two short hours later, we left with beautiful hands and feet. I chose “I’m not Really a Waitress”, the classic red of OPI world.
By the way, when I grow up, I want to name OPI Nail Polish. The names are always so clever.
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Storytelling
Posted on 28. Mar, 2009 by Deb.
I have always been fascinated by stories. It’s the basis of what makes up lives, really, the moments that are remembered as so important or humorous that we retell it to our children and our friends. My favorite early stories came from family members and I especially loved listening to stories my grandmother told. Growing up in a family of fourteen children, there were many. Her father was a Baptist Preacher and the family farmed, including the grew both crops and cotton in Ellis County Texas, after trekking there from Tennessee. It’s frustrating to remember pieces of a story, like why my grandmother was crying in a family photo (with 14 children in the family, she was wearing big bows tied upon her feet; she had outgrown her shoes, they couldn’t yet afford another pair, and her sister Lilly was wearing her outgrown ones) and not have the details that make the story richer. I cannot help but long for the details of the child born in the middle of picking season for the cotton or the trek from Tennessee to Texas in the late 1800′s via wagon and mules. Oral story tellers are the foundation of so much of our pasts, and I find that I’ve aged too much to recall than tidbits of the stories I heard before my fifth birthday. I wish I had been old enough to write them down when she told me or disciplined enough to ask for re-tellings years later. It would have been a gift to commit those stories to paper before my grandmother died 17 years ago.
From the first moments that I could sound out words and realized that they formed sentences which in turn formed stories, I was hooked on the written word. I didn’t lessen my love for hearing stories, and to this day I love books on tape (or being read to at the ripe old age of almost-41), but I found that no matter where I was, I could entertain myself. I have been a voracious reader since the first grade.
When I think about it, I realize there was seduction in words even before I knew what the feeling was, I just knew that a few simple words on a page had the ability to send me to another place, make me feel and think and dream. Reading became my number one past time when I learned that I could immerse myself in a story no matter where I was: in my bedroom while the rest of my family slept, in the classroom when my work was finished, in the car on a boring trip, or up in the tree in my grandmother’s front yard. I read Little Women for the first time sitting in that tree. I am constantly finding writers that make me think and writers who make me feel and writers who make me laugh as I explore the worlds that their mind has created.
The desire to be able to do that for others came soon after I learned to read. I wanted to be able to make others feel the way I felt and see the world through my eyes. Finding the words to express the simplicities of the day or the complexities of the heart is a simple part of my being, yet the hardest thing to do at times. At times, I find that I can speak them, the challenge is to be able to also write them.
Through my desire to consume words as well as write them, I find inspiration for writing by reading other writers. Jimmy Buffet, for example, is a musician whose humor I appreciate (though I would never be a “parrot head”) and a quote from his auto-biography, A Pirate Looks at Fifty always comes to my mind when I ruminate on writing:
…I don’t have the talent to compete with the Great Serious Writers. Anyway, writing is not a competition to me. Writing is fun,and I am simply a storyteller. I also really enjoy the self-discipline writing requires. It’s a great challenge, like learning celestial navigation or becoming a seaplane pilot. Anyone bellying up to a bar with a few shots of tequila swimming around the bloodstream can tell a story. The challenge is to wake up the next day and carve through the hangover minefield and a million other excuses and be able to cohesively get it down on paper.
I want to take that tradition of storytelling that meant so much to what makes me, and be able to write in a way that others can see the world from my mind’s eye. The challenge, truly, is to find the discipline to carve through the fear and the other excuses and commit the words to paper.
And on that note, I have plans to watch old movies tonight. I hope you are having a lovely Saturday.
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Legends VS. Facts
Posted on 17. Mar, 2009 by Deb.
Today, I made the drive to Waxahachie. I drove around the town square, and saw that little has changed since the 1970′s. I was wishing for light and my camera, but those can wait. It was not quite 6 AM when I drove through, too dark for photographs and besides, I had places I needed to be. I have always loved the courthouse, which was built in 1897. It’s a grand structure. If you’ve seen the movie Places in the Heart, you would have seen the town square.
My aunt is in the hospital there, and that was the reason for the trip. It’s been over a year since I’ve taken the drive there, I guess we all get lost in work and life and fail to visit quaint towns that we used to visit. and I wanted to allow my cousins to take a break since she needs someone with her the full time she is there and my cousins as well as a second cousin are taking shifts. I went early, so that my second cousin, covering the overnight shift, could head on home for some sleep. She is doing better, my aunt, so that is good. But the drive as well as the town of Waxahachie brought a flood of childhood memories to me. My grandmother, as well as two sets of aunts and uncles lived in Waxahachie, the town my mother was from.
I was the youngest grandchild on that side of the family. The closest in age to me was my cousin John, who is five years my senior. Five years is nothing when you are 41, but it’s a lifetime when you are 6. My cousins were having children long before I had my first bra. I got to stay with my grandmother more than any of the other ten grandchildren, simply do to the chronology. Grandmother was a seamstress for the Haggar Pant company, but was retired by the time I was three.
I was always fascinated with the courthouse. If you walk around the structure, you cannot help but notice the gargoyles. The legend is this: a German mason by the name of Harry Herley came to town to help with the courthouse. He stayed at a boarding house while he worked, and fell in love with the beautiful Mabel. He took that love and began the carvings of her as a tribute to his love. But Mabel spurned his advances, and as time passed, he became bitter and the carvings became uglier and more grotesque until the 12th carving you see is a twisted demon.
I believe I heard that story for the first time when I was five or six. I never tired of hearing it and never tired of looking for the carved faces that looked down upon passersby and stood guard. The artistic representation of such a tale fascinated me. There is passion in art, whether it born of love or of pain.
Beyond the names of the parties, Henry and Mabel, historians say there is no fact in the legend. They say that it’s likely traditional European Characters, such as “the green man” and a child and a demented character. And that the faces were likely not carved by Henry, but commissioned from Dallas and shipped to Waxahachie for installation. I know that history requires we look at fact, but I am a romantic at heart and prefer to the legend of Mabel and Henry over the facts.
No matter what is happening in your life, I hope you have the opportunity to take a sidetrip to something memorable from your past. It’s Spring and a good time for road trips and indulging in legends.
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Instead of Sheep
Posted on 18. Feb, 2009 by Deb.
If you are a lover of old movies, you may recall this from White Christmas….
If you’re worried and you can’t sleep
just count your blessings instead of sheep
and you’ll fall asleep, counting your blessings..
It’s good advice, even if it came from the mind of Irving Berlin and the lips of Bing Crosby. Over a year ago, I began making a shift to living a little more focused. I wrote about it at All Things Girl, when I created a vision board and the choosing of three little words to live by for the year. One of the things I blogged about was the fact that I had begun keeping a “gratitude journal”. The physical journal has gone by the wayside, but the concept is still one of those full present pieces in my life. The consciousness of being grateful.
Today, I played golf. We were on the 4th hole and I was waiting to take my second shot. It’s February, yet it was 77 degrees and there was a light wind. And I was outside enjoying the golf course in the sunshine. In my silence and waiting, I sent out a silent prayer of thankfulness for the glorious day that I was able to simply be a part of. And that is when it hit me. Being thankful for the blessings in my life has become part of my subconscious existence.
Last week, as is evidenced by my lack of writing, was one of those weeks. But each night, when I put my head on the pillow, I still do nightly prayers. They are not complex, but simple. I am simple in many ways and this is one of those ways. I pray for peace and forgiveness, and I pull out at least two things from my day that I am thankful for. Some days, finding two things in a particular day to be thankful for is a stretch, but those are the rare days. Most days, I am able to pull together a longer list to go through my head. They are fleeting, though, in that by not writing them down on paper, I am not able to look back and remind myself what was especially good about February 18th, for example.
Tonight, when I go to bed, my “sheep” will include:
- The beautiful weather and the ability to be a part of it…
- My improving golf game, including an 8-foot putt and a nice t-shot on the 7th hole…
- The ability to laugh at myself and still enjoy golf on the not so great shots…
- The sense of humor of my children…
- Inspirational and Creative People in my life…
- The lessons of learning patience and trust…
- The fact that my youngest is with me all week…
- That my oldest had a decent day and wasn’t cranky…
- That all my laundry is caught up…
- That I came home to a clean house and there are clean sheets on my bed…
And on that note, I do believe it is time to climb into bed, lay my head on my pillow, and get some sleep. I hope that in your life, you are able to find things to be grateful for from your day. Sweet Dreams.
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Week Two of 52 Stories: A Guy Named Dave
Posted on 18. Jan, 2009 by Deb.
This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for Week Two.
I love talking to Veteran’s, especially those from the WWII era. They proudly wear their hats that announce them a WWII Vet and are often willing to spend a few moments chatting with a stranger about life. I also find that the veteran’s from that era are often ready to easily talk about their time during the war. I don’t know if it’s the time distance from the war, their age, or a combination. Maybe it’s the fact that few people are willing to take the time to listen to what they say.
December 7, 2008 was a bright but cold Sunday. I happened to be in DC and wandered own to one of my favorite spots to people watch: The Navy Memorial. The Navy Memorial is on on Pennsylvania Avenue at 7th Street. There you will find a granite sea and the Lone Sailor Sculpture staring across the sea. When the weather is warm, the fountains are flowing, surrounded by bronze plaques representing different communities of the navy as well as different events. I always remarked that the only idiosyncrasy is that the fountains smell of chlorine, and they should really smell of salt. But it was Pearl Harbor Day and the fountains were empty due to the chill in the air. I would be unable to stay for the wreath laying ceremony honoring the victims and heroes of “The Day that will Live in Infamy”, but I was fortunate enough to watch the rehearsal.
And that’s where I met Dave.
He was a proud WWII Veteran wearing not only his WWII Veteran Baseball Hat, but a photo of himself in his Navy Uniform. I smiled at him, and the gentleman he was with, telling him I wanted to shake his hand and thank him for his service. He introduced me to his friend, Bill, a Korean Vet. After I shook hands with Bill, Dave took my gloved hands in his and in that moment, I could see the boy in the photo in the eyes of the man before me. Without me needing to ask many questions, Dave began to share part of his story.
“I grew up in Maryland, and when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, I didn’t even know where Pearl Harbor was – I had to get a map and find it. But I joined up – all the kids I knew joined up. I remember this one kids down the street tried to change the date on his birth certificate, he was only fifteen. Me? I was seventeen.”
He looked over my shoulder and motioned to the statue of the Lone Sailor.
“My mom took a photo of me – just like that – right before I shipped out. I’ve looked everywhere and can’t find it, but wondered the first time I saw that statue, if it was me. Then I realized, it could have been any of us. But I had a bag like that, and a was so young and excited, like he is. I remember that Garrick coat. It was so warm. “ Then he chuckled. “I actually lost the first one. Well, didn’t lose it, someone else took mine and left his older one in it’s place. It wasn’t quite as warm as it had seen some time.”
We chatted more, and as I always do, I ask about life after the war. He worked for a machine shop and as time passed, he became a manager. The bonus of management meant a membership at the country club. His wife, who had passed on several years before, had loved that. He also told me about his children and grandchildren, especially his son, currently serving in the navy. He stood a little straighter then, as the told me about his son – he was an officer and was in and out of war zones and loved what he did.
As we parted, I asked him what he remembered the most. “It was an adventure. I learned that I could have fun and I loved it. Maybe I’m not supposed to say I had any fun at all, going off to war. But I did”.
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Week One of 52 Stories: Chuckie.
Posted on 09. Jan, 2009 by Deb.
This is for the 52 Stories group on Flickr where we take one picture a week and write a story. This is mine for week One.
I had admired her from a distance, lusting after her and her sisters through various photographs I had seen over the years. Coming face to face with her was a defining moment, though and I believe it was then that the feelings of lust became the beginning stirrings of love in my heart. In thinking about that moment, I believe that the erotic scent hit my nostrils before my eyes could gaze upon her and seductive curves. There she was, right in front of me: an operational B17 Flying Fortress named “Chuckie”. Of the 12,726 B17’s manufactured between 1935 and 1945, only 12 have been tenderly restored to a condition in which they were meant to be in – and that is in the condition to fly.
The smell that sent my olfactory glands into a twitter was the combined scent of oil, high octane aviation fuel and waxed aluminum….climbing inside the nose of the plane and putting myself into the position of the bombardier was exciting…and then moving into the cockpit where the navigator, pilot and flight engineer worked was close to orgasmic.
When it gets down to it, I’ve always been interested in history. The lives of Henry the VIII and Thomas Jefferson were equally fascinating to me, but nothing held my interest like the stories of World War II. Then, about three years ago, the seduction of the War birds of the 1940’s turned to lust and a bit of an obsession.
Yes, I said the “o” word: obsession, but perhaps a better word would be passion. My exploration into the aviation of World War II was something I could really sink my teeth into as I discovered Aviation Museums where the stories I read about suddenly became something real to me as I found these remaining aviation marvels just waiting to be admired. With friends, I began to plan weekend getaways centering on the chance to gaze upon the polished aluminum and bubble canopy of a P51D Mustang or khaki painted B25 Mitchells.
Nothing spoke to me, though, like the sheer power of a B17.
The best collection of planes I had the chance to gaze upon was in Polk City, Florida at the Fantasy of Flight museum. During that visit, I realized that all of the other women on the tour were tolerating the trip because their husbands wanted to visit while I was wondering if I needed clean underwear because of the excitement.
Part way through the behind the scenes tour, I realized that some of the men were watching me more than they were listening to tour guide. I couldn’t tell if the men on the tour were watching me because the level of my breathing, flush faced and dilated eyes reminded them of a woman in an orgasmic state, if they were staring at my cleavage, or if it was the shock that I knew the difference between a Rolls Royce and a Pratt & Whitney engine. I was amused at their distraction, but soon I forgot them as I became lost in my lust for polished aluminum, camouflage paint, and the sexy sweet spot where the wing merged with the fuselage.
In a static display, the B17 owned by the museum in Florida, I climbed through. Twice. The plane had been damaged during Hurricane Andrew and the entire left wing was mangled. It was my first up-close-and-personal with a B17 and I was incredibly saddened that it would never feel the breeze of the sky against her belly. But, it (the Piccadilly Princess) was given as much love as it could be given – in a beautiful display with the interior restored – and the right engines were dripping oil. In my obsession….er…..research….I have learned that those old engines have to constantly drip oil to be lubricated enough to work. Dry engines can be the death of a vintage engine just as much as dry cuticles can be the end of a successful career in hand modeling (I’m trying to put it in girl-speak).
But back to my visit with Chuckie. All four of the beautiful engines were dripping oil into bright yellow barrels, which told me that the engines were functioning. I could actually run my hands along the polished aluminum and get a close-up look at the repaired bullet holes. She was being lovingly restored with the markings of the 8th Air Force, a very historic unit from World War II.
I got a personal tour from the gentleman responsible for Engine Number 4. He’s promised me that I can come out the next time they start the engines so I can hear her. He’s also offered to let me go for a ride if I’d like. Like the men who watched me in Florida, I couldn’t quite tell if he was looking at the excitement in my eyes – or checking out my boobs. It doesn’t matter what made him ask. I’m more than happy to take him up on his offer.
I simply can’t get that scent of airplane wax, oil and aviation fuel out of my mind. I’ll need fresh panties for the ride, thank you very much.
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SATC the Movie, Chocolate Chip Cookies, and Layovers
Posted on 08. Jun, 2008 by Deb.
I will confess that I have seen Sex and the City more than once. I went last weekend when I was in DC…last night, the youngest wanted to see it – and I can tell you that I know for a fact she is MY daughter because there is this one scene that made me a little teary-eyed that most people in the audience chuckled over. It made HER weepy, too. I did love all the clothes and the fabulous shoes. Yum!
I was fortunate enough to have lunch with a dear friend yesterday and we had some very yummy sushi – and she kindly gave me some homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies that were double yum. Yes, there are still some left.
The Pilot Guy had a 1 1/2 hour layover in Dallas- and since I was in town, I ended up meeting him. We made great use of the time. I have been missing him more than usual…but then again, it’s been 3 weeks since I’ve seen him. I’ve gotten to the point that I do pretty good on my own….and when I start to just want to spend some time….it’s usually a sign of desiring comfort. I was thankful for just being able to get a hug and smell him, but now I am thinking greedy thoughts and am wanting
I am a little on the tired side…..but I got a nice challenge from a friend to do some writing – about anything – and not part of a blog – tonight. 500 words. i need a challenge to kick me in the butt. And I also need to stop obsessing over email, flipping channels, and looking at the mess around me, go to my office and let things flow from the tips of my fingers. My head is FULL of things and has been for ages, but I haven’t written much beyond my few little scratches here….
How has your weekend been?
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Personal History Lessons
Posted on 16. Apr, 2008 by Deb.
I attended a lecture and book signing last night. The Lecturer was Jonna Doolittle Hoppes and the lecture was about her grandfather, Jimmy Doolittle. I picked up the book when I was in DC a couple of weeks ago and truly enjoyed the story…. The book told the story of Jimmy as well as his wife of 71 years, Joe.
I had always been fascinated by history, and have become more and more interested in aviation history the last few years. Jimmy Doolittle was a true pioneer in aviation. He was the first person awarded a PHD from MIT in Aeronautic Engineering – and as a pilot set many world records. He is also a Medal of Honor winner, due to his leading the Raids over Tokyo barely 4 months after the bombing of Pearl Harbor….
Also attending with Jonna were her parents, and 90-year old Tom Griffin, a navigator from the 9th crew that was on the Raid. All three of them signed my book.
The World War II Generation is fast disappearing….and if you have a veteran in your family, you should try to get his or her story and write it down.
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Pure Plane Lust
Posted on 06. Apr, 2008 by Deb.
Though the sexiest plane ever is the P51 Mustang….when it comes to BEAUTY and making my heart go pitterpat? B17…Flying Fortress….
I’ve been doing a little bit of research – not much, but a little….